The silver-white armor and the military-green missiles seemed to merge into one as they accelerated together, temporarily outpacing the others and forming a huge arc in the air.
Meanwhile, the rest of the missiles began to lose their lock-on accuracy, scattering in the sky and no longer chasing Leon like a swarm of bees. That was a clear sign—they were about to explode.
Leon calculated the timing in his mind. At just the right moment, he released his grip on the armor and maneuvered away from the missile he had been guiding.
"Three, two, one—boom!"
He accelerated swiftly. As his countdown ended, a thunderous explosion erupted behind him.
Boom!
Several missiles collided with the one Leon had controlled, triggering a premature detonation. The force of the blast violently pushed the air away. The remaining missiles, caught in the shockwave, also detonated one after another.
Fire and smoke consumed the mountains along the West Coast. A thick, rolling cloud spread across nearly a kilometer, darkening the sky.
Inside their cockpits, the fighter pilots were stunned, unable to understand how the Mark II had evaded pursuit so cleanly.
But they didn't have time to stay shocked.
Even the high-altitude winds couldn't dissipate the dense smoke from dozens of simultaneous explosions.
The fighter group flew directly into the blackened airspace, unable to respond in time.
"Target lost! Repeat, target lost!" the squad leader reported urgently.
"Accelerate and clear the visual obstruction zone. Continue pursuit. Do not let the target escape under any circumstances!" came the order from HQ.
But Leon didn't take the opportunity to flee. Instead, he turned around and flew back into the explosion's aftermath.
"Jarvis, simulate flight trajectories based on the enemy aircrafts' direction and speed."
A flickering projection appeared on the armor's faceplate, displaying a dozen simulated paths cutting through the smoke.
Leon mentally ran his own calculations, approximated the timing, and then dove into the smoke cloud.
He rapidly closed in on one of the predicted paths.
"Prepare to turn, Jarvis!"
The moment the words left his mouth, a fighter jet suddenly emerged through the black mist directly in front of him.
Leon quickly braked and veered upward to avoid a collision.
The pilot inside the jet widened his eyes in shock but quickly regained control, pulling the jet up while simultaneously opening the weapon bay and unleashing a hail of machine gun fire.
"Aircraft Thirteen has located the target! Repeat, Aircraft Thirteen has located the target!"
"Engage! Attack!" came the squad leader's response.
Aircraft Thirteen gave chase and fired in rapid volleys, several rounds hitting the Mark II, causing Leon's body to jolt inside the suit.
This seemed to excite the pilot further. He slammed the thruster to full and pursued Leon at maximum speed.
Suddenly, the Mark II executed a sharp turn.
The pilot hesitated momentarily before preparing to follow—just as another fighter jet burst through the black mist in front of him.
"Sh*t!"
The pilot yanked the controls, trying to pull up, but it was too late.
The two jets collided at high speed—one from above, one from below. The impact sheared off major parts of both fuselages.
Fire and black smoke erupted as both engines failed. One jet spiraled downward, while the other's cockpit was shattered in the collision, knocking the pilot unconscious.
Leon sensed something was wrong. He looped back, grabbed the unconscious pilot from the wreckage, and carried him to safety, preventing him from crashing along with the plane.
Meanwhile, the pilot of Aircraft Thirteen deployed his parachute midair and watched in alarm as both jets plummeted below. No second voice reported battle damage over the comms.
He frantically called for support.
"Aircraft Seven and I collided and crashed! He's not responding—possibly attacked! Requesting immediate rescue! Mayday! Mayday!"
His earlier cries of "Attack!" were now replaced with desperate pleas for help.
Leon soon heard the roar of other jets diving from above. The rest of the squad was rushing in for rescue.
He smirked.
"Well, I guess that concludes this little exhibition match."
Looking down at the pilot he'd just rescued, Leon gently landed and placed him on the ground before turning and flying toward Los Angeles.
"Good luck, buddy."
As the rescue operation unfolded, HQ observed the Mark II departing via satellite. But it was too late to catch up.
"Damn it! He got away!" General Ross slammed his fist on the table in frustration. "Send more air squadrons!"
"It's no use, General," Rhodey said bluntly from the side. "Based on the acceleration he demonstrated, we can't catch him."
"F**k!"
Elsewhere, Leon reunited with Tony, and the two flew back to the beachside villa.
With the size and speed of the Mark armor, as long as no satellite snapped a picture of them, they could return undetected. Jarvis was on alert for satellite surveillance, so their flight was relaxed.
"I didn't use any weapons, just like you asked—no direct confrontation, no casualties," Leon reported.
Then he grinned, nudging Tony, "But did you see my moves out there? Feeling a little schooled?"
He looked at Tony expectantly—after all, he'd come out today just to show off.
Leon had been looking forward to this for a while. And he'd been thoughtful too—considering Tony's connections with the military and how revealing Iron Man's identity might strain those relationships.
So Leon followed Tony's instructions to the letter—avoiding any initiative to attack, sticking to evasive maneuvers, and even rescuing a downed pilot.
"... Not bad," Tony muttered, speechless for a moment. He was genuinely impressed.
Jarvis had streamed the entire Mark II footage to him in real-time.
Leon's precision in controlling speed, timing, and maneuvering far surpassed what Tony himself was capable of.
Tony hadn't even considered that the armor could be operated with such finesse and fluidity.
After all, he was still a beginner—barely had a handful of flights under his belt—and he had never imagined armor combat could look so... elegant.
Of course, he couldn't let Leon gloat too much.
"You were using your own strength, right? You must have been," Tony insisted, trying to preserve some pride.
"Absolutely not," Leon denied smoothly. "Jarvis can vouch for me."
"Indeed, sir," Jarvis confirmed. "Master Leon relied entirely on the armor's systems. All readings were within normal parameters."
Tony already knew that—it was just hard to admit.
"But you still brought down two jets," Tony protested. "That's not exactly a peaceful resolution."
Leon chuckled. "I didn't fire a single shot. I didn't initiate any attack. Are you blaming me for their mistakes? Come on, Tony, don't hold me to higher standards than yourself."
"Fine, fine," Tony relented. "For the record, I'll admit—you were better this time."
"Thank you," Leon said, clearly pleased. "As long as you keep working hard, one day you might catch up to me."
"But what dinner were you talking about?" Tony's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Oh... about that," Leon scratched his head. "I didn't make anything. As soon as the power test ended, I went to save our soldier friend. No time for cooking."
Tony groaned. "Then we're ordering takeout. I'm starving—I could devour every cheeseburger in Los Angeles."
"Agreed," Leon nodded. "And while we wait, maybe take a moment to message Rhodey. Let him know that today's Iron Man causing a stir in the military… was you."
"Why would I do that?" Tony asked. "That'd blow my cover."
"With how flashy you are, it's just a matter of time before you reveal it anyway. Better to let Rhodey know early—prepare him, get him to help cover for you."
"Huh. That... actually makes sense," Tony admitted. "Leon, since when did you become so thoughtful? Did you learn this from bickering with girls in school?"
"No, I learned it from stopping you from bringing random women home when we were kids."
"Then I guess you should be thanking me—"
Their playful banter faded into the wind as they flew under the setting sun.
The orange-red glow stretched across the sky, and the sea below shimmered like maple leaves in autumn.
In the reflection of the waves, three mechs glided silently toward Stark Mansion.